


The Roads That Led Here

by AnnabethBlack



Category: Drawfee RPF
Genre: Detective, Drawtectives, Gen, How did we get here?, I'm Sorry, Pi, Prequel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-25
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2020-05-21 00:40:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19362868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnabethBlack/pseuds/AnnabethBlack
Summary: A prequel fic based on the first episode of the new Drawfee series, Drawtectives: Murder at Cresent Hill. Each chapter tells the story of how trainees "York", Grendan, and Rose end up in the office of PI Jancy True, shedding some light on to their mysterious origins.





	1. New Gyorik

Tick. 

 

Tick. 

 

Tick. 

 

Tick. 

 

Jancy sighed. It was barely audible and yet Gyorik’s ears pricked up at the small noise. Without meaning to, Jancy closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. It was a bad habit, breaking eye contact, but heck, there were worse things she could have done. Pinching the bridge of her sharp angled nose, Jancy sucked in a deep breath. The action was not as comforting as she had hoped. Her eyes opened again to find Gyorik still there. He looked at her through half-lidded eyes that were brimming with attitude and anger, dark and intense and unblinking. 

It was unnerving. 

And yet Jancy found herself returning Gyorik’s heavy lidded stare. She was so tired. She had been doing this for so long. If she wanted to, she could have dissected the boy before her in a blink of an eye. She could have analysed the way he sat in the small circular chair, his elbows resting on his knees as he almost hunched over himself, shoulders up by his ears, spilling out of the space he tried to confine himself to in a hulking way that ought to have been uncomfortable, and yet he gave away no indication that he felt anything at all, let alone unease. It would have been easy to interpret the mishmash of clothing customs - the slicked back hair in a ponytail with some cow licks at the front, the sleeveless coat tied with a sash, the low cut top and the hulking boots - if Jancy had just tried. But she did not. She was just too tired. Besides, the silence was nice.

Instead, as Jancy and Gyorik stared at one another, she found her mind wandering backwards, away from the present. Back to before the chair before her had been dragged out, sat in with a heavy thud and a grunt, to be scooted back in again with a strained squeaking that had set her teeth on edge. She thought back, past the heavy thudding of boots across the seemingly endless distance from the door to her desk, past the low whine of the hinges of the door that probably needed oiling, and even past the initial two heavy thuds against the wooden frame of the otherwise glass door that looked like it might smash against the pressure. 

Jancy found herself inside Gyorik’s place, staring at the frosted glass with narrowed eyes and laboured breathing as he - they - squinted at the black letters painted on to the glass, trying to decipher whether the artistic swirls around the words  _ Jancy True: Private Investigator _ actually meant anything. Once she was there, it was almost too easy to go back into Gyorik’s memories. Just a few days. She needed to know what - or rather  _ who _ \- she was dealing with.

 

* * *

 

Gyorik's ears were full of ringing. This was not unusual. This was the best sensation of battle. It was the sound of bloodlust. The feeling of blood dripping down his arms. The thrill of his warrior's rage. Gyorik smiled with sharp teeth and roared with joy. Some bits of flesh flew out of his mouth. He slurped them back up. It was delicious.

“My son is now a man!” 

The bellow made Gyorik look up. His father stood close by. His arms were thicker than some of the oldest trees. His fists, like hammers, on his hips. Legs apart, loincloth fluttering in the wind: a confident stance. Although behind him, Gyorik could tell his father’s chest was puffed up with pride. 

It was a glorious day. 

After eighteen years of life Gyorik had proven himself. He led the hunt and slaughtered the leathery beast as tradition wished. He still had one of its horns gripped tight in his hands. His only weapon had been his rage. No pet. No weapon. No tribe. Just him. The elders had watched and now they applauded.

It was a glorious day.

And yet, Gyorik felt something missing. Just for a moment. 

He looked down at his hands. They were smaller than the horn he wielded. He looked to his father. His hands were now raised in the air, victorious. He was catching the chants of his son’s name. They were so large and strong. Like rocks. Great for crushing. He would turn the horn to dust in a moment. Gyorik knew this from experience. Gyorik squeezed right around the horn. It cracked a little but retained its shape. 

His heart sank.

The cheers of his tribe felt like a quiet whisper. The hands dragging away his kill and raising him up felt like nothing. He looked at a sea of faces. They were large and lumpy. He did not see any like his at first. He knew there were a few. Gyorik was one of some half-breeds. They were smaller, faster, but not as strong. But still part of the clan. 

He still belonged.

Joy crashed over Gyorik once more. He cheered and held his trophy aloft. His tribe cheered back. Gyorik was hoisted onto many strong shoulders. They carried him away towards a fire. There were drums banging close by. There would be alcohol and fire. Also probably a fight or two. Maybe he would get to fight to the death. Even more honour. Even more blood. Even more victory.

It was good turning eighteen.

 

Gyorik sat slumped on a log. His head was fuzzy and full. Feasting and drinking made him feel good. His mother’s hands running through his short, blonde hair felt good too. She sat beside him on his log. Gyorik looked at the fire but she looked to his father. His father wrestled three other orcs at once, tossing them into the sand. His mother was impressed. She always was when she came to visit. It wasn’t often. Gyorik thought he would like to see his mother more often. She lived in the human world as she was a human. She would have made a great orc. His father always said so. She was tall for a human woman but still a foot shorter than Gyorik. She had tanned skin from outdoor work and big bones. Her muscles were less defined than other women orcs but they still showed. She filled out her hide armour well. The furs suited her blonde wavy hair. 

She would have made a great orc, but she was not one. The tribe let her visit but she could not stay. She did not want to stay. She liked the luxuries of the human world. Gyorik didn’t know what that meant. It made him curious. He thought about it but the possibilities were too many for him to understand. He sat upright. Over the treetops that surrounded his village, down a great big hill, there were a cluster of stars on the land where it met the sky. This was where his mother lived. She called it Fancy Town. Gyorik didn’t know if that was its true name. He wondered what was there. He wondered what fancy meant. His brain hurt with all of the questions he had. That didn’t stop them though. Only one thing would.

“Mother?” Gyorik asked.

It was crazy. He was scared but also excited. The prospect made him buzz. It was like the thrill of a hunt. He wanted to try this.

“Yes, darling?” She replied, not paying Gyorik her full attention. She was still watching his father.

“I wish to learn about my human heritage.” Gyorik began, sitting up straighter.

“Oh. That’s… unexpected. I thought you were happy here?” His mother looked at him now. Her eyes seemed worried. It made Gyorik worried. Just a little. But there was no need for her to be worried so he stopped being worried too.

“I am. But… I am not just an orc. I am an human too. I want to see what it’s like out there.” Gyorik shrugged like it was no big deal.

“Well, if that’s what you want,” His mother smiled. There were layers to it. Gyorik didn’t understand them all. “Then of course you can come. I know everyone will want to meet you.”

Gyorik could have said more but he didn’t. He sat up straighter. He fought through the fuzziness to focus on the lights. He wondered what was different. It was exciting and daunting. It was just like a hunt. Or so he thought.

 

“Gyorik, get off the couch.” 

It was not the first time his mother asked this of him. She said this most days when she came home. Next she would put her bags on the table. Then she would take off her coat. All humans wore coats. When she was with the tribe she would not wear a coat, no matter how the wind decided to bite. In Fancy Town she wore a coat. Sometimes it wasn’t even cold. Gyorik never felt cold. Not when he raced the local small wolves at the park at Dawn. Not when he stalked the streets looking for large slabs of meat roasting on small metal boxes at night. 

Next she would nudge his feet off of the back of the couch. Gyorik liked to sit upside down and stare at the motion box. There were little people trapped inside it. They were humans, mostly. They did different things like dance or cook or sometimes fight. Gyorik found it most interesting though when they told the facts. Usually on the hour. After two weeks he now knew what an hour was. It turned out that measuring time could be quite helpful. Sometimes it was boring though. Sometimes it made him angry. But then the hour would be up and the humans would sit behind desks and read about murders. 

Humans reacted funny to murders. They usually sent more humans to look at the murders. They would explain the murders. Usually how and why. It was all simple stuff. Sometimes it would take them days to explain the murders. They were slow to figure it out. It made Gyorik laugh. He was quick to see how. He had seen so many murders in his tribe. Animals and orcs alike. He did not see why it took the humans so long. Sometimes it took so long they would have to call other humans in who knew about murders better. Gyorik thought that he would like to work with some of those humans. He was, after all, unstoppable and very smart. 

His mother nudged his feet off the couch. Gyorik grunted and righted himself. It was time to watch the murder reports on the motion box anyway. There was a specialist human on the box again. She looked old and small and tired. There was not a lot of meat on her bones. Her hair was short and grey. Gyorik knew that she was the best specialist human. She understood the murders the quickest. That’s what the motion box said. Whenever the reports featured her, they were always explained very quickly. Gyorik admired that.

“Oh, is that Jancy True?” His mother spoke from the edge of the sofa. She had stopped there to watch the murder report too.

“Yes.” Gyorik didn’t take his eyes from the box. Sometimes, if he stared hard enough, he could catch a glimpse of a fuzzy dead body.

“I read in the paper she’s looking for interns.” His mother often conveyed useless information from the paper. It seemed to report on the murders slowly. The motion box was much faster. 

“What is an ‘intern’?” Gyorik asked. He didn’t really care but his mother quickly educated him that ‘politeness’ and lying was an important part of human culture. 

“It’s… hmm… well I guess she would be training someone to do her job.” 

This news caused Gyorik’s ears to perk up. He looked away from the box to see his mother. He had to be certain that her face showed the signs of truth.

“She would take this intern to explain the murders?” Gyorik asked.

For the first time in a long time his heart was beating faster again. He could feel his brain waking up. It felt like it had been sleeping, even though he was alert. The human world of Fancy Town had been disappointing but this was not. He missed his tribe but he was still curious. Training with the murder specialist was a good idea. It was like him - the best half of two things. He wanted to do it. He had to do it. 

“Yes, I suppose so.” His mother smiled. Gyorik knew she could tell he felt joy at this idea. She always smiled when Gyorik felt joy.

“Mother, I require your paper and also assistance. I wish to be an intern.” 

 

Gyorik had never had much of a reason to write before. Using a pen was strange. It was very small and had to be used precisely. It was like a knife used to skin small creatures. Gyorik was used to skinning rabbits. He used the same focus to skin as he did to write. It was easy. He quickly mastered the use of a pen. His mother helped a little. She told him how to spell. He did it all though. She offered but Gyorik wanted to impress the murder lady by himself. 

Now his mother was asleep on the sofa. Gyorik still sat at the table. His head nearly touch the artificial light that was very low from the ceiling. He wanted to turn it off so his mother could rest more easily. More than that, he wanted to read his application again. The words made him sound as great and accomplished as he was. The letter on front boasted his best features. Gyorik’s father would be proud. Gyorik knew it. 

He was confident that the murder lady would pick him. Gyorik was often picked for the things he wanted. Maybe he was not the strongest or the fastest or the smartest orc, or half-orc, but he was quick to learn. He wanted to learn something new now. Murder could open so many doors. He was ready to see all of the things. He wished he could see them faster. The apartment his mother lived in was very boring. The outside world was also very boring. There was a lot less killing than he anticipated. But murder? He could do that. He was ready. All he had to do was mail his letter. 

 

Gyorik had his feet on the back of the couch again. The humans on the motion box were answering questions. The reward for true answers were letters. The letters, as Gyorik understood it, made a sentence that gave the contestants luxuries. His mother called them luxuries. Gyorik did not understand. The reward for this episode was a boat. It did not look very well defended. It was sleek and white. Too easy for enemies to spot. Not enough room for archers and their quivers. It would sink with just two orcs on board. 

As Gyorik thought of this, a loud shrill noise startled him. It sounded like a screeching bird perhaps. Maybe an ailing infant. He was alarmed to say the least.

“Gyorik! The phone!” His mother yelled. 

Gyorik looked around but he could not see him mother. 

“What’s a phone?” He shouted back, turning his head in every direction to see if he might find her.

There was a sigh and a human curse. Then a noise Gyorik now understood to be the passing of water. Heavy footsteps and then the loud noise stopped. 

“Gyorik, come here.” His mother sounded very serious. 

Gyorik understood the urgency in her voice. His first thought was that the noise signified a trespasser. He picked up a potted plant from the table between the couch and the motion box. He carried it over his head. He could drop it on the intruder to hurt them.

“What are you-? Put that down. Take this. Put it to your ear.” His mother snapped, snatching the plant from him and handing him a rectangular device with two circles either end.

Gyorik frowned and did as instructed.

“Hello?” A voice came out of the device. It sounded like the noise from the motion box, but much closer to his brain.

Gyorik looked to his mother. She nodded, a small happiness on her face. Gyorik took it as a sign to speak back.

“Hello?” He copied. He felt stupid. He did not like that feeling.

“Hello, am I speaking to Gu- Gu-Grik?” The voice asked. It was too high to be a man’s voice. Gyorik decided he was talking to a woman.

“I am Gyorik.” Gyorik replied.

“I’m so sorry. How was that pronounced? Goo-rick?” The box woman asked.

“Gyorik.”

“You’re rick? That’s not what I have written on this letter…”

“Gyorik. My name is Gyorik.”

“I’m so sorry, one more time.”

“Guh-your-ick.”

“Guyork?”

Gyoric sighed. Humans were so simple and stupid. 

“York. You can call me York.” Gyorik said through gritted teeth. He could feel the blood rushing to his brain. Closing his eyes helped control the rage. His mother did not like him raging in the apartment. Things were not so easily repaired or replaced in Fancy Town. 

“Okay, well, York, uh… This is Jancy True calling. I received your application-”

“You’re the murder lady from the motion box?” Gyorik interrupted. His blood flow turned from anger to joy.

“Uh, well, yes, I suppose that’s one way of describing me.” Jancy replied. She did not seem too happy but Gyorik was. He looked to his mother. She felt his joy too.

There was silence. Gyorik was waiting to hear what she had to say. He was too excited to speak.

“So, anyway, I called because I received your application and, well, are you free to come in this evening? I have been contacted about a murder and-”

“Yes. I will be there. Where is there?” Gyorik spoke quickly. He was eager to see a murder up close again. Also to learn about new things. Also to get out of the apartment. There was a lot to do.

“I have the address. Do you have a pen?” Jancy asked.

“We do own a pen. I used it to write my applicaiton. What is an address?” Gyorik replied, giving his mother a thumbs up.

“I, uh,” There was a sigh. “Maybe put your mother back on the line? I still have two other calls to make and-”

Gyorik removed the box from his ear and held it out to his mother. She grinned at him and took the phone.

“Yes I can take an address.” She said.

Gyorik didn’t stay to listen. He felt the rush of excitement flow through him. It was too difficult to stay still. Instead he went back to the couch and jumped up and down. The whole apartment shook. Dust fell from the ceiling. Gyorik kicked out his legs. The couch fell over. Victory was his. Gyorik was ready to go out. He waited by the door for his mother. She was only a few seconds behind him but he wanted to run. He felt a rush. Seconds were too long.

“Hey, slow down there tiger,” his mother said as she put down the phone. “You can’t go dressed like that.”

Gyorik looked down at his body. His torso was, as always, completely exposed. He was no coward. He was not in battle. There was no reason to cover up his defined abdominal muscles. Part of his agreement with his mother when entering human society was that he would trade his loincloth for pants. There were two kinds of human pants. He wore the under kind: tight, restrictive, white. They covered his manhood much better than a loincloth but the cost was too high. Still, his mother insisted. He did own some long pants to go over his smaller pair. He did not wear those inside the house though. He knew to put them on before going outside. With a huff, Gyorik found his pants on top of the motion box. He put them on and returned to the door.

“That’s still not good enough. This is a job. Humans cover up completely for their jobs. You need a shirt, a coat, and some shoes.”

“Not a coat!” Gyorik was repulsed by the idea. It wasn’t even cold.

It was a waste of time but it made his mother happy. Gyorik looked around the apartment and found some boots that had been a present from a human he didn’t know. They gave them to his mother when she brought him home. That human made boots and these were Gyorik’s. They were brown and tall. They fit his feet. It would be fine. That is what his mother said. 

Gyorik also found a shirt. It was white with thin straps that left his shoulders and arms exposed. It also hung very low. The material was not sturdy. It felt as though he was not wearing a shirt at all. Gyorik liked this. His mother did not but she also did not argue. It was a trade. She made him take the fangs out of his ear. Fangs did not belong at a job. She had two golden circles to go through his ear instead. Those were more accepted by humans for a job. Gyorik did not feel like he had won but he put his fangs in his long pants pocket. It would do. 

His mother insisted on a coat.

“My father had no coat.” Gyorik grumbled as he followed his mother down the hall to her neighbour’s door.

“Your father is not human. If you want to experience being human then you must wear a coat.” His mother replied. She was firm. Gyorik knew he would not win against her. He would win the murder though. If he needed a coat to win then he would wear a coat. He would not like it but he would do it.

 

Gyorik looked at the coat in the mirror. He liked to look at himself. He felt his appearance was nice to look at. His jaw was strong. His tusk was not as big as he would like but it was still prominent. It signified him as a good protector. He did not like the coat though. It was tattered at the bottom. The neighbour said it was old. Gyorik did not care for the age of the coat. He did care that it was hard to move his arms. They would not raise past his shoulders. It felt like two snakes had coiled around his muscles. It would make self defense very difficult. Instinct told him to rip the sleeves off. He would rip snakes off of his arms. But his mother would not like that. He did not like when he broke things.

“Are you able to fix this coat?” Gyorik asked his neighbour.

“I- well, yes. I am a tailor. I could probably mend the bottom if you like but that might take some time and I understand you need the coat rather urgently.” His neighbour seemed distressed by this idea.

“I would like the sleeves taken off.” Gyorik informed his mother and his neighbour.

“ You mean taken in? They look quite tight-” 

Gyorik had no time to deal with this stranger’s stress. He had somewhere to be.

“Off. Sleeves off please.” Gyorik remembered the word his mother liked him to use in human company.

“Oh, okay.” His neighbour still seemed nervous.

“Just right off please. I just want them off.” Gyorik tried to make his neighbour feel better. It was a simple request. 

“Yes. Okay. Yes. I can do that. It won’t take me two minutes.” 

Gyorik took off the coat and handed it to his neighbour. He looked at his mother. She seemed to approve. Gyorik looked around while he waited. He found loose material on the floor. A red sash reminded him of ceremonial garb from his tribe. He picked it up and threw it over his shoulder. The coat would flap open. It would help keep it closed. A lot of the cloth was useless. A bit of discarded sleeve from his coat caught his eye. He stooped over and picked it up. The triangles were nice. He tried it around his wrist but it fell off. He tried it around his head but it was too small. He thought to discard it. Then he tried it around his bicep. It fit.

“That’s cute.” His mother smiled. 

She sensed his joy before he did.

 

His mother could drive. It did not look difficult. Gyorik was sure he could drive too. His mother would not let him try. Instead he sat, squashed up next to her. His knees reached his chest. His chin touched his knees. This car was small but fast. Just like Gyorik. Soon he was outside of another stone building, just like all of the buildings in Fancy Town. 

There was no fear in his mother’s eyes as he left. She could feel the adrenaline surge. Gyorik was excited. She knew he was strong. He would be fine. He would find his way home eventually. She did not give him directions. He was a man. 

A man about to explain a murder.

 

* * *

 

 

Jancy shook her head a little. York’s story was a simple one really. She had skipped over a lot of details. His eagerness filled her with a sense of hope, even if he kept it concealed. Sure, it might take some time to get through to him, but he was sure to be a good student. She could feel it. She needed to feel it. There was a reason she chose him. He was promising. He was available. 

As Jancy mentally bolstered herself, preparing to break the ice a bit between herself and her new recruit, a small, fake cough shattered the hope she was building up. Her eyes turned to the doorway to see it being held open but a dwarf. Her next recruit had arrived. 


	2. The Little Grendan That Could

Jancy was convinced that her head might just very well explode. Grendan's strut from the door, which he had infuriatingly left open, to the unoccupied chair besides York had been tolerable. The way Grendan did a little hop up onto the seat might have almost been endearing, even. The way he flourished his tiny legs so that one ankle rested on his opposite knee was a bit much, but Nancy reminded herself of plenty of good detectives who were a little bit eccentric. 

Yes, Grendan was certainly eccentric. The mish mash of clothing styles was baffling. As was the air of confidence he exuded. There was no denying that Grendan felt incredibly sure of himself. The arms folded behind his head, leaning against nothing but air, was a dead giveaway. Still, Jancy held out hope that, perhaps, behind this… self-assured front there was a sensible head on his broad and almost definitely padded shoulders. 

And then Grendan opened his mouth, obliterating any hopes that Jancy was wrong about her preconceived notions regarding Grendan's personal character. 

"Hi, uh, so I'm Grendan. Grendan HighForge. Of the HighForge clan. You've probably heard of my parents. They're kind of a big deal. But not me. Not yet, at least. I'm making my own way. You're Jancy, right? It's great to meet a fellow detective. Is this your son? Hi, nice to meet you. I’m Grendan. Grendan HighForge. Maybe you’ve heard of us." Grendan turned to York and extended a hand.

Jancy just stared at the two boys opposite her. York shot Jancy a look that could have been either alarm or maybe just confusion. There were definitely gears working in his brain as York decided how best to respond.

“I, personally, haven’t. I just got to town so… you know…” York spoke casually, doing a great job at hiding how thrown off he was by Grendan’s character.

“Yeah, no, that’s okay. Maybe your mom has heard of us?” Grendan asked, turning back to Jancy with a smile. 

There was an expectant pause that lasted just a moment too long as Grendan waited for Jancy to speak. To say that she was overwhelmed by Grendan’s presence would be a bit of a stretch, however her second trainee did magnify the intensity of just how tired she felt. The urge to let her half-lidded stare droop into fully closed eyes was tangible. There was almost a pressure to put her head in her hands, Jancy could feel it. But Jancy True was no quitter. 

“Oh, no. Well, yes. I have _heard_ of the HighForge clan but no, this is not my son. Why would you think he’s my son?” Jancy asked.

“I didn’t want to assume.” Grendan replied with a bright smile.

“Ah, okay then. Well, uh. Well, this is, uh, York, wasn’t it? York is one of the two… _peers_ you will have under my guidance-” Jancy began, sitting up straighter and shaking her shoulders back.

“Uh, what is a peers?” York asked, taking advantage of Grendan’s loose hanging jaw.

“Comrades. Brothers-in-arms. Individuals learning and working alongside you as you blossom into grea- into functioning detectives beneath my tutelage.” Jancy explained.

“What is a tutelage?” York whispered to Grendan.

“It’s like, a muscle or a bone or something in the body that-” As Grendan began to ramble, Jancy tuned out. His words were long and, although not entirely meaningless, they certainly did fnot convey the correct meaning of the word. It was quite impressive how sure of himself Grendan sounded. It was the perfect moment for Jancy to let her mind slip away, to see what had brought young Grendan into her office. Unfortunately, it was not as easy the second time. Grendan was a lot louder than York, which meant he was also more distracting. Thankfully, this was not Jancy’s first rodeo. She was well practiced in this particular art, and while it may have taken her a moment or two longer than she would have liked, eventually she found everything rewinding.

 

* * *

 

 

Grendan was a bit of what you might call an ‘early riser’. Every morning he would get up while it was still dark outside. It was cool because he got to see all of the crystal shards dotted around his man grotto - yeah, it was a grotto because _cave_ was just so barbaric and totally not in tune with the vibe than he was going for. The crisp bluish white light was super cleansing. He had read it somewhere, probably a druid magazine. Looking at his lights first thing in the morning was always such a beautiful sight to wake up to, and then he could take his time picking out some clean clothes from the folded pile by the steps up and out of his grotto. Having a lot of high profile clients meant that Grendan had to be very particular about what he wore at all times. What a man wore was telling of his character, that’s what his dad always said, and Grendan wanted people to know that he was incredibly successful at what he did.

Once he was suitably clothed, Grendan could walk out of the house before any of his relatives spotted him going down the side alley, and he did do that, without taking any sort of breakfast because it was the most important meal of the day and so obviously he had to stop by the best bakery in town on his morning route so there was no point eating before that at home. Grendan didn’t feel like he needed to see his family first thing in the morning anyway, especially as they would get up and go straight to work from a bland breakfast of milky oats. Besides, they all slept in pretty late considering how Grendan’s dad was always going on about how all of the important jobs started before sunrise and ended once the sun had set. He would see them for dinner so it was fine, or so he repeatedly told himself at least.

Out in the alley Grendan had himself a little locker - well, it was just a mailbox really that he had found in a dumpster, cleaned out, and then asked his dad to nail into the side of the house with a lock on it - that housed his work bag. It was just a small tote bag, made of organic canvas fibres, dyed a bunch of cool colours with beetroot and carrots and broccoli water that he got from a farmer’s market one time when he went with a couple of friends on a weekend upstate a few years back. Inside there were biodegradable dog poo bags, a ziplock full of slightly crumbled dog treats, a chewed up old tennis ball, the cool green earmuffs that his GramGram gave him for christmas that were enchanted to play just one song when they were worn, an empty pack of gum, just things like that. Grendan grabbed his tote and picked up his long wooden staff from where it rested against the red brick of his family home. 

The way that Grendan walked down the street of his neighbourhood was with more of a bound in his step than a spring due to just how pronounced his jauntiness was, it just seemed to be propelling him forward through his neighbourhood. Grendan felt safe, not because he was in a residential area highly populated by Dwarves - in fact Dwarves tended to be bully him more for not being super into jobs requiring manual labour, dark working arrangements, or alcohol-based hospitality and honestly it wans’t Grendan’s fault that he broke the mould and was different, it just who he was, who he had always been. The Gnomes and the Halflings got him more than his own family did but also they didn’t like him much either because they thought he was uneducated which was just a bit rude and classist. Grendan had gone to school, it was the law and also the kids in his class - who were all in varying states of grown up just like he was - all teased him, so like, they knew he was there and if they remembered anything it would be that he was totally average in academic related activities. It was all a phase that everyone involved had grown out of now that Grendan was a respected member of the community with a very important job. Maybe it also helped that he was usually surrounded by dogs of varying sizes that liked to jump up at new friends.

It was still dark out, but not as quiet as you would probably expect from the early hour. There were people who commuted out of the city, people who worked in the underground tunnels, people who worked in the transit depots, people who had to light the forges, people who just liked to be awake before the sun like it was some sort of challenge or something. Grendan had met all sorts on his morning rounds. These were the people who wanted their dogs picked up and walked, the people who appreciated Grendan getting up early so that way they could prepare for the work day while he walked their dogs in time for the dogs to be home before they actually had to leave for work. As he walked, Grendan could hear movements within otherwise silent households. He could even hear the yipping and whining of some of the dogs he would pick up on his way back because obviously you start with the house farthest away first and then collect dogs on the way back into your centralised walking route because it made the most sense when you thought about it. 

On his early bird shift, Grendan usually had about eight or so dogs of varying sizes attached to his staff by their leads in time for them to be in the best place in the world for the sun to rise: HighHill Park. The thing that Grendan liked most about his neighbourhood and his job was being able to see the sunrise every day because, first of all, it was beautiful even if it the sun did seem rather small and far away from the top of the hill. The lights broke across the rooftops of the houses, illuminating the highrises in the far distance to the North and the plains leading to the outer camps and tribal lands of the south. Grendan had never really been to either of the places he saw every morning as he sat on his bench, sipping him all-milk-definitely-vegan latte and munching on his gluten-free rye bagel, but he loved the way that they looked shrouded in both shadow and light as the sun began to rise each morning. The view from his favourite bench, knowing the dogs around him were having a great time running around up and down the hill, gave Grendan this feeling of warmth and renewed energy, as if the wilds around him were infusing him with renewed magicks.

Yes, Grendan was a magic user - why wouldn’t he be? He was a druid after all. After being inspired by a couple of college classes he had taken down at the community college - which was just as much of a real college as those with pretentious names or ones that were out of state - Grendan found himself inspired by nature to the point that he went to a summer camp out in the sticks and spent a whole two months learning druidcraft. He found his own staff, dyed a tote bag, and slept, like, _a lot_. There were some other classes too teaching actual magic and how to communicate with each other and with animals and to feel nature or something but Grendan found himself tuckered out by all of the early craft work and the daily sun-uo rituals and the camp site was so big that it took him forever to find anything to eat so he mainly cherry picked the bits he did while he was there. It was fine. He probably hadn't missed that much, but then again no one really went out of their way to fill him in, but it was all water under the bridge anyway so what did it matter now, years later. He knew how to do the most important and sacred druid magicks which was something to be proud of, even if his father scoffed repeatedly at the idea.

As Grendan watched the sun rise a large mastiff that was only just shorter than Grendan came over whining about a lost ball.

"Don't worry George. You know me, P P I Greandan HighForge, Private Pet Investigator. I've never had a case I can't solve! Stick with me, pup, and we'll piece together the clues to get your ball back." Grendan grinned, sliding off the bench and scanning the general area for his first clue.

As he surveyed the natural beauty of the hilly park, Grendan noticed quite expertly how all of his dogs had clustered around one bush by the wrought iron fence to the park. They all had their heads bowed as they whined and whimpered at the bush in question. There was no doubt about it. That ball was in the bush. Grendan could see it perfectly in his mind’s eyes, watching the dogs bouncing the ball back and forth on their noses, seeing when The Sergeant got over eager, doing a massive bound in the air but missing the catch at the last second, causing the ball to rebound and arc over all of those innocent pups’ heads, spiralling over the fence to land smack in the centre of some bushes that they just couldn’t reach. It was a damn shame, a tragedy even. It broke Grendan’s heart, and so he did the only thing any good person would do, given the situation that is: He used his staff to pole vault the fence, causing all the animals to yip and bark in what was very clearly a mixture of wonder, amazement, concern for Grendan’s safety and maybe a little bit of envy at his very graceful and precise arc through the air. 

Grendan landed in a three point stance, his free hand still gripping his staff tight. He stood up, puffing his chest out a little bit, so that way the dogs were impressed, and began brushing off his clothes in case any potential clients were around. After a moment he surveyed the ground, looking for any bent or broken foliage that might have indicated where the ball had landed. Almost instantly he spotted his prey, a large blue tennis ball the size of his fist, chewed and flecked with mud and dirt, resting between the roots of a hydrangea bush not one foot in front of him. Victorious, he held the ball aloft, relishing the cheerful barks from his canine companions. He threw the ball behind him, not looking - because if he looked then it wouldn't be cool - and then exited the bush, heading straight towards the nearest gated entrance back to the park. 

“Excuse me, you wouldn’t happen to be Grendan, would you?” A voice interrupted Grendan’s thoughts. 

Turning his back to the park and his dogs, Grendan found himself face to face with a halfling girl about the same age as him probably, with a pair of dirty blonde braids and a content Yorkshire Terrier on a leash. She looked up at him with speckled eyes that mirrored her freckled skin. They shone bright with an innate happiness that Grendan recognised because he too was illuminated by the same passion for (what he could only presume to be) walking dogs. 

“Yeah, I’m Grendan. Grendan HighForge, of the HighForge clan. You’ve probably heard of us. My parents are a pretty big deal in the blacksmithing community. Not me though. I’m, as they say, forging my own path. Making a name for myself. Being true to who I am.” Grendan replied with a cool cat shrug. 

“Oh, yeah, I know a few HighForges actually. What are your parents’ names? I might actually know them. I did a semester-long apprenticeship in the HighForge Smith Forge once.” The halfling girl smiled, flashing a set of dazzling pearly whites that blinded Grendan and made his heart soar, only to come crashing down when he finally processed what she had said. His thoughts of the two of them walking dogs side by side by the river at dawn poofed away, leaving him with the haunting reality of the situation as she had produced his least favourite and most embarrassing question right out the gate.

“Their names? Haha… Yeah… Uh… Mom… and Dad?” Grendan scratched the back of his head and laughed, trying to play it off and some sort of innocent joke. He hoped the heat burning on his cheeks or the sweat dripping down his forehead wouldn’t betray the truth to her. She seemed so nice and friendly and intelligent, just from her one line of dialogue. Grendan hated leaving a bad impression, especially on new friends, but also he well and truly was completely clueless to his parents’ names. Maybe they had never told him or maybe he just hadn’t heard or maybe he just didn’t remember or maybe they didn’t want him to know, but for whatever reason, Grendan had no clue as to the names of the people he referred to as Mom and Dad. 

The halfling girl chuckled, her eyes darting about. She held the elbow of the arm holding the leash in her hand, shifting her weight from foot to foot, kind of like an indecisive seesaw almost.

“That’s a lovely dog you’ve got there. What’s its name?” Grendan asked, bending forward onto one knee and offering his hand out.

“This is Double Dash.” As Double Dash was introduced, they padded forward and began to lick Grendan’s outstretched fingers.

“Aww,” Grendan cooed, stroking Double Dash’s sleek coat. “You know, I’m a dog walker. It’s kind of my job. If you ever need someone to take Double Dash out on a walk, I offer pretty competitive rates. At the moment I’m running an offer where, basically, if you recommend me to at least two friends then _I’ll_ pay _you_ to walk your dog for a week.” 

“Oh, um, shit, no, I’m, um, I’m actually the new dog walker hired by the Levores.  I’m here to pick up Nugget. I have a letter and everything.” The halfling girl pulled out a note from her pocket and handed it to Grendan.

It felt like his heart had dropped into some sort of void portal inside his chest because it was so broken it just didn’t feel like it was there. He opened the note anyway, even though he really didn’t want to because Nugget was a great and cute dog and he loved Nugget a lot but also the note was scented like lavender which meant it was undeniably from the Levores and so he couldn’t exactly ignore it no matter how much he wanted to. Grendan was many things - including but not limited to: a druid, a dog whisperer, a pet detective, a middle child, and hungry - but he was not a criminal or a kidnapper. A dog belonged by the side of its owner, unless that owner was at work or busy or a Drow who was incapable of taking their dog for the walk that it needed because sunlight was damaging to them and so they decided to hire a dog walker for the express purpose of ensuring their dog was properly taken care of, just as a good owner should. As much as Grendan loved Nugget, he just didn’t have the heart to fight what his owners clearly believed to be the best move for Nugget. 

“Oh, I uh, i didn’t know Miss J was getting a new dog walker. He, uh, didn’t let me in on that secret.” Grendan sighed, getting back up to his feet and shoving his hands in his pockets. 

“Nugget, uh, talks to you?” The new dog walker seemed to be quite alarmed by this idea.

“Yeah. I’m kind of a dog whisperer. Like, I talk to the dogs and then they talk back to me. It’s probably because I’m a druid but I don’t like that label, you know?” Grendan shrugged, kicking his opened toed sandal into the dirt of the path, watching his sock turn from white to brown. 

“Oh, so you have a spell that lets you talk to animals then.” There was a sense of relief that Grendan didn’t quite understand but he didn’t really feel in the mood to figure it out. He was done detecting for that particular moment.

“Yeah, well, no, not really but kind of, I guess. I’ll just, um, I’ll go get Nugget for you.” 

And just like that, Grendan turned around and shot off.

 

After the park and his breakfast, Grendan took all of the dogs back to their respective owners and the next step in his daily routine: his midmorning nap. It was essential to Grendan’s mental and physical wellbeing that he had at least one nap during the course of the day. His last walk of the night was well after sun down and he woke up before sun up so, in order to get the full eight hours rest that he needed and deserved, Grendan would always come home and sleep for a couple of hours, just so he was feeling in tip top shape for his busiest shift: the post lunch walk. The post lunch walk was awesome because there were a lot of dogs attached to his staff and also Grendan got to eat just the largest slice of pizza while he walked. It was definitely bigger than his head which was, proportionally, quite large which said a lot about both Grendan as a person and the slice of pizza. 

That day, the post lunch walk was bittersweet. The pizza was as gloopy and gooey as normal, but the guy behind the counter was new and trying to convince him (for some absurd reason Grendan did not understand) that pizza was not, in fact, vegan. Of course Grendan knew better, being a devout druid and a vegan, that pizza was perfectly fine to eat because he only ever got cheese and so there was no meat or milk or eggs on it, and yet that guy decided that he was going to try to ruin Grendan’s day further which was not very nice but Grendan wouldn’t let it get him down. Actually, Grendan was almost grateful that the pizza guy had tried so hard to insist he was right, because it just strengthened his resolve to have a better day and to pick up his mood. Grendan even scolded himself a little bit on the walk, because dogs, being the highly intelligent creatures that they were, were very perceptive to emotions and they must have felt sad picking up on Grendan’s negativity. He couldn’t let himself be down because the dogs in his charge needed him to be happy and chipper so that way they had nothing to worry about so Grendan perked right up and remained in a good mood for the rest of the day. 

In fact, Grendan was in such a good mood that he decided to have a proper conversation with the dog he only knew as ‘Borfday’ for a change. Borfday was cute and sweet and adorable with very well trimmed circular fluffy fur and a little party hat. It always seemed to be someone’s birthday at this dog’s house, as there were always banners and balloons all over the front door and windows. Grendan had never actually met the owner other than that first initial time but he must have just been super busy but that didn’t matter. Every day the Borfday dog was outside, holding its leash in its mouth, wagging its tail with a small pouch of silver coins for each day’s payment. Once the walk was over, Borfday would hop back into its home through the dog flap in the front door, so Grendan never had any cause for concern really. 

Grendan loved talking to the dogs, and once Borfday was home he had a conversation with the new dogs, a pair of pomeranians, just to make sure they were happy with how he conducted his dog walking. They seemed quite pleased, which was very promising, and very very chatty. 

“Hey, hey, wanna know a secret?” One of them yipped at Grendan.

“Sure, sounds great.” Grendan grinned back.

“Sometimes, sometimes I puke-” one began excitedly.

“And then I eat it up!” The other barked cheerily.

“Our owner has no idea!” They howled in unison.

“Haha, cool. I won’t tell them. Don’t worry.” Grendan chuckled. 

As they reached the front door, a grumpy looking gnomish woman in a dirty smock was waiting on the steps, her hands on her hips.

“Are you the dog walker? What were you saying as you walked up? You seem to be riling up our dogs!” The woman snapped, holding her hand out expectantly for the leashes.

“Yeah, I’m the dog walker. I’m also a dog whisperer. I learned some secrets of your dogs. They’re really nice.” Grendan smiled, handing over the perky puppy pair.

“Okay,” The woman seemed more than a little taken aback by this, but her bad mood persisted. “But you walked them, right? That’s sort of the main thing we hired you for.”

“Yeah yeah yeah yeah. Like, I’m a dwarf. I come from a family of blacksmiths.  You know, pretty hoity toity blacksmiths but I just wasn’t about that life. I love to be out surrounded by nature so I’m a dog walker. It’s what I do. It’s what you can _trust_ me to do. I walked your dogs today and I will walk them again tomorrow and every day that you want me to walk them. In fact, I have this special offer going on at the moment where if you recommend my services to two of your friends then I’ll pay you to walk your dogs for a whole week. It’s a really good deal, especially with my competitive rates. Maybe you could think on it?” Grendan nodded slowly, feeling pride in himself.

The gnome lady just stared and Grendan blankly for a moment or two, just speechless. 

“You’re not a businessman, are you?” She asked.

“No, I just told you, I’m a dog walker-slash-whisperer.” Grendan’s eyebrows knitted together in a very un-chill expression that he did not like at all.

“Okay, well, maybe you should look in this for some accounting classes or something like that. You clearly need it.” And with that she tossed Grendan a newspaper that just appeared to come from nowhere, took her dogs inside, and shut the door very firmly.

Grendan frowned and took the paper, opening it to the classifieds and scanning down, keeping his eyes peeled for something cool that would boost his dog walking abilities like ultimate frisbee or a treat making cookery class. It was always good to freshen up the ol’ resume and branch out a bit with his skills as it had been very clearly proved that Grendan needed to step up his game and be more marketable to retain his customer base. He was almost home when something interesting caught his eye. It was just a name, but one he recognised from the news and the papers and the newspapers he bought specifically for dogs to pee on when he did the occasional overnight dog sitting stint, and that name was Jancy True. Reading as quick as he possibly could, Grendan first bumped into a lamp post and then shoved the paper in his tote bag, racing home as fast as his flat feet would carry him to spruce up his resumé.

 

* * *

 

 

Grendan woke up from his nap feeling incredibly groggy and also kind of damp. He looked up to see his younger brother, Breggory, standing over him with a mostly empty glass of water and an unimpressed look.

“Som’ wom’n just call’d th’ forg’ lookin’ for ye,” Breg grunted. “Said ‘er name wos Jancy Troo or som’n. Ask’d if yer were avail’ble to go ter ‘er off’ce down town as soon as. I told ‘er you were a lay ‘bout without a job and you’d be down toot sweet.” 

Grendan sat bolt upright, feeling confused at first but then excited once he realised what his brother was actually saying. “Breg that is not cool! I do have a job! A very important job that you’re going to have to cover for me please.” 

“Yeah, right. I’m not walkin’ no dogs.” Breg snorted, turning around and walking back up the stairs.

Grendan didn’t bother calling after his brother because Breg had a heart of gold in the right place so he knew that everything would be fine and taken care of. Breg had actually done him a favour by throwing some water on his head too, as now, feeling damp, Grendan was more motivated to pick out the right outfit to meet his new boss. Full of glee, Grendan tried not to think about the dogs he would be letting down, instead focusing on the dogs he would end up bringing joy to by saving as a True detective.

Jancy pinched the bridge of her nose.

“Uh- I- Oh - Did I-? Did you-? Did- I think your resumé may have fallen on to my pile.” She spoke more to herself than to Grendan.

“Yeah, because I’m a pet detective.” Grendan smiled.

It was such an innocent smile, full of youthful naivety that Jancy just didn’t have the heart to snuff out. 

“Oh.” She replied, not knowing what else to say in the moment.

“I’m great at solving pet mysteries but I’m looking to branch out into- well, basically I’m looking to branch out into anything besides just, like, walking them, but like , human-based mysteries are pretty good too, I think…” Grendan trailed off what sounded, to Jancy’s well trained ears, to be a well rehearsed monologue.

“Listen,” she sighed a little. “I haven’t dealt much with pets but I’m sure something will come by. I’m not really sure. Why did you apply? We don’t do pet mysteries.” 

Jancy hated herself for saying it out loud but she didn’t want to get Grendan’s hopes up too high. 

“What?” Grendan asked, a little confused but still mostly chipper. This only served to make Jancy feel even worse.

“That’s not-” she began but Grendan seemed to have fully grasped her question.

“Yeah, I know, but it’s all, like, mysteries, right? Like, mysteries are mysteries, you know?” Grendan shrugged, quite at ease about the whole thing.

“I suppose…” Jancy may not have liked the situation, but she couldn’t deny that Grendan had a certain air of moxxy about him.

“Yeah.” Grendan beamed.

“Okay, we’re going to see how this goes.” Jancy let out a deep breath, steeling herself more than informing Grendan of his future. 

In the other chair, York looked from Grendan to Jancy and then back again. 

“Humans are kinda like pets to me.” He said slowly, smiling with pointed teeth as the idea amused him.

“Oh lord.” Jancy’s voice wavered. 

“Very small and cute.” York clarified brightly.

“Oh god, I have quite the group,” Jancy muttered to herself. “Now, we’re only waiting on Miss Rosé and then-”

“I’m here.” A small voice from directly behind Jancy made her jump up from her seat.

With her heart racing fast, Jancy True turned around to see a sheepish looking human girl standing behind her desk. Clearly, Jancy had bitten off more than she could chew.


End file.
